


Not what I deserved, what I needed.

by faeryn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst, Bring tissues, Destiel - Freeform, Drug Use, Heartbreak, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicide, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryn/pseuds/faeryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from levithancas (full prompt will be in the notes at the bottom because spoilers) - all credit goes to levithancas for the scenario, I just fleshed it out :) </p><p>Dean is a nurse in a mental institution and Cas is a patient in solitary. They fall in love against all odds and despite breaking a ton of rules. </p><p>But can they find a way to be together once they're found out, or will they be torn apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not what I deserved, what I needed.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [levithancas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/levithancas/gifts).



> **MASSIVE FUCKING WARNING FOR DEPICTIONS OF SUICIDE AND REPEATED DISCUSSION OF MENTAL ILLNESSES**
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously. If you are triggered in any way by suicide or mental illnesses etc etc etc then I really do not recommend this fic. 
> 
> Also massive warning for MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH just in case the tags aren't clear. Just want to cover all the bases @_@
> 
> If you continue on be warned: bring tissues, and there is no happy ending.

Dean’s never been so nervous about a job interview in his life and he sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair as stiffly as he can, doing his best not to fidget. His tie feels too tight and his throat is dry while he waits for the interviewer to speak again.

“Alright,” the interviewer makes a few notes on his pad, “you can start tomorrow on a three month probation. You were our favored applicant, Mr Winchester, please don’t prove my faith unfounded.”

 

Dean settles into his rounds easily, making friends with the other nurses quickly. Even though Sammy was  _always_  smarter than him he can’t deny that he’s quick enough to pick up the repetitive job with few setbacks. And when he does end up making a mistake most of the time all it takes is a flirty word and a flutter of his eyelashes to the Sister to get him out of trouble again. Missouri Moseley isn’t the kind of woman to take shit, really, and she certainly doesn’t fall for Dean’s advances but she recognizes his keen desire to help and his willingness to do almost anything to stay in her good graces, and that means more to her than all the tattle tales from his peers. 

Within a month Dean feels quite at home running rounds with Aaron and Jo and butting heads with Meg. For some reason the blond nurse has taken a dislike to him and constantly tries to catch him out, quickly running to Missouri whenever he slips up. Like right now, for example. 

“Missouri, you  _know_  I didn’t do it! I would never let Alistair have anything with an edge, I’m not an  _idiot_. Don’t you think I learned that my first week when he tried to flay me from the wrist down, I thought the man was gonna french my damn fingers and serve me up as an appetizer.” 

“Dean, the fact remains that you’re the last one who went in to him - the cameras can’t lie! I know it’s not fair, but I can’t keep you on this round anymore. After the incident with Azazel and the lighter fluid I just don’t think you’re right for these more…  _dangerous_  patients. Now don’t look at me like that, son, you’ve barely been here a month and you’re doing so well, don’t let your pride and your temper get the best of you and ruin what you got here.” Missouri’s voice soothes his wounded pride and Dean huffs loudly, willing his body to relax. He’s always amazed at the woman’s ability to read people, half the time she seems to know what he’s thinking before he does, and he knows she’s right.

“So what, then?” He asks her quietly, picking at a loose thread on his scrubs sullenly.

“I’m gonna put you on the solitary rotation. They’re less fuss, you just gotta get ‘em to take their meds twice a day like clockwork. If you can get them to talk to you a bit, too, that helps some but don’t be put off if they don’t. They’re not there because they’re dangerous and need to be confined, mostly they’re there because they’re unresponsive or beyond our help. To be honest, Dean, I think you could do some real good there.” Missouri smiles at him reassuringly and Dean tries not to feel like she’s palming him off on the quiet ones, even though it feels like she kind of is. 

His bad mood lessens when she takes him through to tell the other three about the change to the rotation and Meg’s face falls when she hears she’s taking Dean’s place on the ‘active’ floor while he’s being moved to the ‘passive’ floor. She was clearly hoping he’d just be outright fired. Dean tries not to smirk at her as they trade keycards and the look she gives him is full of venom. 

“You take care of Clarence, now,” she warns, jabbing a finger painfully into his chest. Dean’s surprised for a second, he can hardly believe there’s a single person in the world Meg gives a crap about. “I mean it, Freckles, if you harm a hair on his head…” she leaves the warning to his imagination but he just gives her a bright smile in return. He would never do anything to harm a patient, not even one of the ones who tried to hurt him first. It’s not  _their_  fault, after all. He’s not even mad at Lilith, and she tried to shank him with a sharpened barrette leaving a nasty gash in his side that had required seventeen stitches, because they’re not bad people. At least, that’s what their files say. They’re not committed because they’re evil, they’re committed because they’re sick. Some of them even get better and visit from time to time, though Dean doesn’t know any of the former patients personally. 

He grabs a few things from his locker and begins the short trek up to the solitary floor, where the passive patients are, and wonders briefly if it’ll be the same as the last time he was up here on his first day. Missouri had given him a tour of the entire complex, including the other wards and floors not included in her domain. He’d met the sassy Pamela - self described ‘chop doc to the head docs’ who pinched his ass and called him pretty but stitched him up after the incident with Lilith with complete professionalism - and Crowley, the hospital’s legal adviser. Missouri brought him here last, not wanting him to dwell on the sad denizens of these dim halls, and let him look into each room one by one. There were only four occupied, but each one made his heart ache with compassion. 

Bela is kept mostly sedated, her nightmarish visions of hounds coming to tear her apart overwhelming her if her meds aren’t supplied on time. Her shrieks are often the only noise that can be heard from this ward, though they don’t seem to bother the other patients at all. When she’s lucid she talks about her parents and the stories Dean heard from Aaron and Jo sickened him to his stomach, it was small wonder she’d fallen into psychosis if even half of the abuse she suffered at their hands was true. 

Nick talks to the devil, or he  _is_  the devil, it all depends on the mood you catch him in. He suffers from dissociative identity disorder and firmly believes that he is Lucifer - or is possessed by Lucifer, Dean isn’t quite sure which - at least half of the time. When Nick’s in control he’s a sad husk of a man who mourns his wife and child’s death, losing them both in labor had shattered his mind and he spends his days crying quietly or staring bleakly at the wall. Lucifer, on the other hand, is almost a relief by comparison. He has a relatively good, albeit warped, sense of humor and cracks tasteless jokes like they’re going out of style. Dean almost likes him, except that there is no telling when he would slip deeper into the persona and begin to describe how he’s going to raise the apocalypse and destroy humanity in gory detail. 

Anna hears angels. Of them all, she’s the most lucid and requires the least attention. She can hold a conversation with him, as long as he can handle the fact that she would suddenly stop and stare into space with her head tilted at a slight angle for an indeterminate length of time. Sometimes she would wait only a few seconds before apologizing and continuing her ramble but more than once Dean finds himself at a loss while he waits for her to come back from her ‘listening’ and he starts taking a small paperback in with him to read should she faze out while it’s her social time. Mostly he finds her rather sad. If she could break free of her delusions from the voices she could probably live a normal life - Dean thinks she probably could even if the voices continued to haunt her if only she could get past the vacant staring or the constant desire to  _tell_  people about them. She’s clever enough, just probably a little over-exposed to religion growing up. After her parents were brutally murdered in their home (“by demons, they were looking for me because I talk to the angels,” she tells him matter-of-factly) she ended up here when she was found in the back room of a church covered in her own blood with strange symbols painted around her. 

Dean’s favorite patient, though, is the one right at the end of the hall. He hasn’t been able to get the man out of his head since that very first day, and always makes sure he has time to spend with him. Castiel looked straight up at him through the window in the door as Missouri gave him a tour, blue eyes intensely staring as if into his soul and with such  _alertness_  that Dean was having a hard time believing that he was the most damaged of them all.

 

“Hey Cas,” he says, letting himself into the man’s room and leaving the door propped open. Castiel has no desire to leave, Missouri explained, and is the only patient to check himself in to the asylum in more than ten years. He lost someone, too, and Dean wishes he could have been there to help him at the time. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel answered in his usual monotone, holding out his hand for his medication and taking it without fuss. Usually Dean has to goad and cajole the other patients to take their meds, even outright trick them sometimes, but never with Castiel. He is calm, never showing the turmoil that Dean knows roils just beneath the surface. 

Each day Castiel wakes, takes his medication and allows Dean to escort him to the showers. Once he’s clean and dressed Dean returns him to his room and he sits down on the bed. Dean knows, because he’s watched the camera footage, that Castiel will spend all day sitting on the edge of the bed staring into nothingness or lying down dozing. He also knows that sometimes Castiel breaks. 

It’s a surprise the first time it happens, only an hour after his first round of the day. Dean is sitting at his desk at the end of the hallway watching the security cameras, unable to physically watch over all of his charges in person for the entirety of his daily twelve-hour shifts. He’s munching his way through a packet of chips when he hears a haunting noise unlike anything he’s ever heard before. He instinctively looks at the camera trained on Bela’s room but she’s curled up on her bed, seemingly asleep from the dose of sedatives he gave her earlier. Nick/Lucifer is looking curious - Dean guesses it’s Lucifer right now from the sly smile that creeps across his face - but doesn’t seem to be the source of the sound. Anna is covering her ears and rocking slightly on her bed, which only leaves… 

Castiel is sitting with his back against the wall, an anguished look on his face, and his mouth is open in a wail that echoes through the floor. Lucifer’s on his feet and at his door, peering down the corridor towards Dean as he jumps up from his desk and hurries towards the room, fumbling with his keys. 

“Cassie’s on one again,” Lucifer jeers, “look alive, Freckles!” 

Dean ignores him and bursts into Castiel’s room, crossing it in a couple of quick steps to grip the man by the shoulders. Castiel doesn’t even flinch, just keeps wailing until he’s out of breath and then he starts talking in some weird language Dean doesn’t understand. 

“Cas,  _Cas!_ ” Dean tries to get him to snap out of it but he’s babbling, his eyes like saucers and pupils blown wide with fear. He clutches at Dean’s scrubs tightly and stares at him, tears sliding down his face as his babbling devolves into sobs. Dean settles down on the bed beside him and puts his arms around him, going against absolutely everything he’s ever been taught, and Castiel weeps into his chest, great heaving sobs wracking his body and making his breath hitch in a way that sounds uncomfortable. Dean rubs his back gently and makes soothing noises, uncomfortably reminded of the way he comforted Sammy after a nightmare when they were kids, and again as adults when he was begging for the drugs during his withdrawal. After a while Castiel begins to calm, his sobs becoming small hiccups before ceasing altogether.

“You okay, buddy?” Dean asks when Castiel finally pulls away.

“Yes Dean, I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Castiel replies, his voice as emotionless as ever and for a heartbeat Dean wonders if this is the same guy having a complete breakdown just moments ago. 

“No worries, can I… do anything for you?” 

Castiel only shakes his head sadly and resumes his usual blank expression. 

 

Days turn into weeks then into months and Dean’s routine is finally settled. Castiel rarely has another episode and even Bela seems to be improving. Missouri is impressed, but she says she knew Dean would be able to do some good here. “You just needed to find your place,” she says to him one day with a knowing smile. 

Most of all, he enjoys the time he gets to spend with Castiel. He never neglects the others, but he spends his free time in Castiel’s room, talking quietly with him about whatever they can think of to pass the time. Castiel’s responses sometimes confuse him, like he’s not quite at the same point in the conversation as he is, but every day he’s more responsive and new light shines in his deep blue eyes. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says as usual when Dean walks in, propping the door open with the chair and perching on the bed with him. They graduated from sitting on the chair to the bed a few weeks ago and Dean finds himself soon slumping into a comfortable sprawl. This patient has rapidly become his best friend, and he allows himself some measure of comforts as a result.

“How’re you feeling today, Cas?” 

“Very well thank you, and you?” 

It’s a routine for them that has become habit. Castiel knows Dean doesn’t need to ask about his health because he knows it better than anyone. Castiel asks in return out of politeness and they’ve never broken the cycle. 

“Little tired but good. Bela was up screaming half the night, I’m amazed you slept through.”

“I went home, Dean, Bela didn’t disturb me.” 

There it is again, another one of Castiel’s strange little sentences. He often alludes to being out of the hospital, particularly when something distressing is happening elsewhere on the floor, but Dean has long since given up trying to convince him that he’s not left this floor in years. At first Dean tried to remind him where he was, but he soon realised that there’s a pattern to Castiel’s hallucinations. Six days out of fourteen he’s lucid all day, sleeps at night and is totally vacant for one. Then for another six nights he’s awake all night and asleep all day, with one extra day staring into space. The day of staring changes week to week, like a roster, but the days and nights remain the same, alternating week by week. When asked, Missouri explains that before he committed himself she understands he worked shifts that resembled this pattern and attributes it to a sub-conscious desire for routine. Dean doesn’t ask again. 

“Ah well, she sure disturbed me,” Dean yawns and rubs his face with his hand. “So, what d’you wanna do today?” 

Castiel looks at him with an odd expression, head tilted to one side in a curious mimicry of Anna’s ‘listening’, before he leans forward and pushes his fingers into Dean’s hair. Dean freezes, staring at his friend - his  _patient_  - and waiting to see what he’s going to do next. Castiel shuffles closer and begins to card his fingers through Dean’s short hair, mumbling soft words in strange languages that sound soothing. Dean can’t help but relax into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut and a soft sigh escaping his lips. 

“You were telling me about Sam,” Castiel prompts quietly once Dean is boneless and relaxed on the small bed. 

“Sam was… he was awesome. He was always such a smart kid. Top of the class in everything. Wish he hadn’t… done what he did. Met a girl, Ruby, stupid bitch. I didn’t mind much when he was blowing off the odd class or whatever to smoke pot behind the bleachers, ’s what I did in high school and I came out okay. Kid needed to let loose a bit. I never knew… I was four years above him yanno? By the time I found out he was skipping altogether he was failing. First it was the weed, then Ruby was giving him god only knows what. When I found out he hadn’t been to school in a month he was in some dive out of his skull on heroin. I had to drag him outta there myself. It was hard, man,” Dean’s voice falters when Castiel’s fingers slow, but he soon resumes his careful petting and Dean begins to talk again as if the hands on his head are all that’s keeping him running. “But he agreed to come off the junk, went on a methadone substitute, was going to rehab and everything. But this… this…  _asshole_  nurse Brady was substituting the substitutes with sugar pills and selling ‘em on the black market. Fuckin’… Sammy went off the deep end before I could get him something and… he…” Dean sighs and his eyes flick open, he’s annoyed at himself for letting Castiel lull him into talking about his problems. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, his voice full of remorse as Dean sits up, pulling out of his reach.

“Not your fault, Cas,” he mumbles. 

 

He’s avoiding Castiel and he knows it. They still spend their social time together, the two hours a day Dean is contractually obliged to spend with each patient in his care, but he no longer seeks out Castiel’s companionship like before. It’s the first time he’s talked about Sammy since… since the last time he talked about him, and Dean’s not eager for a repeat. Instead, they play board games and talk about the weather - though often Castiel’s version of the day’s weather vastly differs from what Dean’s seen through the huge windows at the end of the corridor. He’s moved back to the chair for their conversations, even though he can see the hurt and confusion on Castiel’s face. This is safer, he thinks.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Castiel asks him after about a week of bland conversation and diversion tactics.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Dean starts but Castiel frowns at him.

“You are, we were friends and now we aren’t. Why?” Castiel looks upset and Dean feels a pang of remorse for the way he’s been behaving.

Dean stares at Castiel for a long moment before getting up, letting the door swing closed behind him as he settles down on the bed next to him, crossing his legs as he tries to get comfortable on the mattress. 

“I don’t talk about what happened to Sam,” he says quickly, deciding to launch right into it rather than get caught up dancing around the issue. “It hurts a lot, and I miss him like crazy. You suckered me into talking about it and I was upset. But I’m not now, I’m sorry.” 

Castiel looks at him for a long moment before reaching out and taking both of Dean’s hands in his. The warmth of him makes Dean’s skin tingle and he wonders when the last time someone touched him like this was. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sucker you, but it helps to talk about the things that hurt. I care about you very much, Dean, and I don’t want you to be sad. You won’t be able to move on if you can’t talk about it, but I won’t pressure you again. You can talk to me whenever you need to, about anything. You know that.” 

Castiel’s words are low, and Dean is struck by how like his own words echoed back to him they are. He’s said that umpteen times to the patients since he got this job, always trying to encourage them to talk about their feelings and their problems. Anything that’ll help them get through their issues or feel better about themselves. He knows way more about Bela’s life than he ever wanted to and his heart aches for Nick every time he breaks down when he talks about his wife and child, but he listens. He never expected one of them to do the same for him. 

“Cas…” he’s not sure what to say next so he just looks at Castiel, holding his gaze steadily and trying to tell him how grateful he is without words. Castiel offers a small smile and squeezes his fingers gently in reassurance. Dean’s timer buzzes in his pocket and the moment is lost, he has to go and see Anna now. But he’ll come back after, he knows, and not even talking about Sam could keep him away. 

 

Dean is leaning against the wall with Castiel’s head in his lap, idly playing with his hair when his cell phone vibrates. Which is weird, because he’s not supposed to keep his cell on him when he’s with the patients. Still, Cas isn’t really  _patient_  so much as  _buddy_  these days, so he probably just forgot to put it down. They were discussing something abstract as usual, Castiel is crazy good with languages and often spends a great deal of time just explaining how a joke that is virtually meaningless in English can be absolutely hilarious when correctly translated into the right language. 

_Hey baby bro, I’m swinging into town today - think you can spare time for dinner with your favorite sibling?_

Dean frowns at the text message in confusion. It doesn’t sound like anyone he knows, and he definitely doesn’t have an older brother. 

 _Sorry man, wrong number_. 

He tucks the phone back in his pocket and returns his attention to Castiel, who is looking at him curiously.

“Wrong number,” he grins. 

“Oh good, I was beginning to think you were going to abandon me,” Castiel replies without a hint of humor in his voice, but his eyes glint with hidden amusement. Dean can’t help but laugh - just a few months ago Castiel could barely do anything but stare absently into space and hold the most basic of conversations and now he’s making  _jokes_. He looks at Castiel and can’t hide the fondness he feels as he runs his fingers through the man’s hair, even a little flutter of  _hope_  that Cas might be on the road to recovery. 

“Nah, can’t get rid of me that easily,” Dean quips back and Castiel laughs. 

It’s the first time Dean’s seen Castiel laugh, and it’s beautiful. Okay, it’s a little bit dorky and forced, like he’s not used to it, but there’s genuine amusement behind it and his whole face lights up when he smiles. 

Dean leans down and kisses him. 

He didn’t mean to, it just  _happened_. One second he was cracking a joke and the next Castiel was laughing and Dean just couldn’t help himself. He pulls away quickly, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment and shame at what he just did. Castiel’s not laughing any more, but he doesn’t look angry. Actually, he looks thoughtful, if a little confused. He sits up, and Dean is afraid he’s going to ask him to leave, when he suddenly moves forward and presses their lips together again. It’s like a switch is being flipped in Dean’s brain, lightning fizzing through the place where their skin touches, joined at the lips and all of a sudden Dean can’t breathe. He’s just kissing Cas and Cas is kissing him back and he has a hand tangled in his hair and Dean’s got one hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, fingertips stroking gently and making more of those fizzing lightning bolts zip through his skin. 

They kiss urgently, passionately, but without the heat Dean’s come to associate with kissing. This isn’t about sex or arousal, it’s pure, unadulterated emotion passing between them. Speaking words without words, the way Dean likes it. Castiel is sitting on his knees, hands tracing his shoulders gently as if afraid he’s going to vanish any second. Dean’s carding his fingers through Castiel’s hair, surprised at how soft it is with only the State-supplied shampoo available to wash it with. 

Finally they break apart, breathing heavily, but not too far. Dean rests his forehead on Castiel’s and Cas graces him with another small smile. It lights up his face and Dean feels like he’s lighting up with it. His timer starts to buzz and he groans, knowing he can’t miss his round or Bela’s meds will be late and he can’t risk her health for the sake of some kissing. Pressing one last light kiss on Castiel’s lips, he extracts himself from his arms and backs out of the room, unable to tear his eyes away from the man until the door shuts between them and he remembers he  _does_  have a job to do. 

 

The days pass in a blur, now, and Dean has a hard time telling them apart. His routine hasn’t really changed, and yet  _everything_  has changed. His time with Castiel is split between talking and kissing, half the time they just lie on the bed and touch each other gently, stroking over backs or faces as they explore one another. There’s nothing sexual about it, and Dean finds he really doesn’t care. He thinks he could be content so long as Castiel just keeps on letting him kiss him. 

The hardest part of the week is the day Castiel spends staring into space. His routine hasn’t changed at all, even though Dean tries to snap him out of it. At first he tried kissing some sense into him but when Castiel never responded Dean felt dirty and left him alone. Dean avoids his room on those days, his blank gaze unnerving now Dean’s starting to get used to seeing so much life in it. 

Dean continues to escort Castiel to the showers in the morning, as he does with every patient. About a month after their first kiss Castiel looks back at him as he steps through the door and a sly expression crosses his face. He leans up and kisses Dean with more heat, more  _lust_  than he ever has before, and curls his fingers into Dean’s collar, tugging him through the door too and locking it behind them. Dean soon learns Castiel can do other things with his mouth besides kiss, and he’s glad nobody else works on this floor to notice his inexplicably wet hair. 

He knows it goes against every policy, every rule that the hospital has in place to protect the patients. He knows his relationship with Castiel is a risk to his job. He knows all of this, but he can’t seem to pull away from it. He started falling the moment he saw those vivid blue eyes staring at him through the window and tripped his way down until now he’s too far gone to think straight. Everything in his mind just screams  _Cas, Cas, Cas_  and he knows he’s completely and utterly in love with the man. 

“What happened to Sam?” Castiel asks him one day, his voice a muted whisper against his lips.

Dean isn’t sure right away if he’s going to reply, leave or kiss Cas into submission. “He killed himself,” he manages finally, pulling away and looking down at his hands where his fingers are entwined with Castiel’s. “After that jackass Darcy stopped giving him his methadone he just couldn’t hack it, the withdrawal was too much for him. I did the best I could but I didn’t know he wasn’t getting the meds till it was too late. A-and… he put a gun to his head.” A fat tear slides down Dean’s face before he can stop it and splashes hotly on his hand. He draws a shaky breath and forces the rest of the tears away. “I miss him so much, Cas, and I blame myself for not realizing sooner. And I know it’s stupid, god knows I know, but if I’d just paid more attention, right from the start, he might’ve, he could’ve, maybe he would…” 

Castiel shushes him and draws him into his arms, enveloping him in love and safety, and they rock together gently. Castiel pretends not to notice Dean is crying into his shirt, and Dean does his best to pull himself together before he has to leave. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Castiel says quietly, pressing gentle kisses into Dean’s hair. 

“Thanks for caring enough to ask,” Dean mumbles back. 

“I love you Dean, I want you to be happy.”

It’s the first time either of them has said it, the first time Dean has heard it from anyone who wasn’t Sam in a long time, but he feels strangely at peace with it. He should be freaking out, angry or afraid, but the truth is he knows Cas loves him as much as he knows he loves Cas and to hear him voice the emotion Dean knows he holds in his heart is strangely touching. 

“Love you too, Cas,” he says, sitting up straight to kiss him again, soft sweet kisses full of the emotion he wishes he could express in words. But Dean’s no poet so he simply kisses and kisses until the worry lines on Castiel’s brow are smoothed and he can’t help but think what a lucky guy he is. 

 

“Hello boys.” 

Dean’s eyes fly open at the unfamiliar voice and he just barely manages to stop himself lurching upright instinctively at the sudden panic rising in his chest. He and Castiel were lying on his bed, slipping in and out of dozing between conversations and Castiel’s head is still resting on his shoulder. Dean’s fingers are curled into his hair and Castiel flinches as his fingers tighten and pull on the hair before he extracts himself and they sit up slowly. Turning to face the door Dean frowns for a second before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise at seeing Crowley in the doorway. Beside him is a very unhappy looking Missouri, though she looks more disappointed than angry. 

“I’m sorry, boys,” she says and her voice is filled with sadness, “there’s nothing I can do.” 

“Wh-what are you talking about Missouri?” Castiel surprises them both by being the first one to speak, forming the words around a yawn as he rubs the sleep from his face. 

“You know that what you’re doing here breaks, oh, about a dozen hospital rules as well as at least a couple of state laws, don’t you lads?” Crowley’s voice is harsh, cruel, and Dean feels the panic fluttering wildly in his chest. 

“We’re not hurting anyone,” he shoots back, curling an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him closer. 

“Oh honey, that’s not the point,” Missouri gives Crowley a pleading look but he just returns a tiny shake of his head.

“The fact is that this hospital’s contract of employment contains certain clauses designed to protect the patients  _and_  the staff. To breach them so…  _flagrantly_ , shows a concerning lack of respect for the institution’s rules - and the law.”

Dean feels a rush of coldness wash over his skin and Castiel’s hand finds his, squeezing tightly. He knows where this is going, why Crowley’s here. There’s only one reason the legal adviser for the hospital would bother setting foot on the ward. 

“Are you going to fire me?” He can barely form the words, his tongue feels thick and his mouth is dry. 

Missouri and Crowley share a look, frowning in confusion, and his hopes soar for a second. 

“No, love,” Crowley says, his voice taking on a sudden gentleness Dean hadn’t thought he could possess, “we’re firing Castiel.” 

Dean feels dizzy and faint, like the bottom dropped out of the room and he’s falling, flailing, and he grips Cas’ hand tighter and tighter until he feels the man wince beside him. He turns his gaze from the doorway and looks at Castiel, who looks like his heart is breaking but he’s trying to hide it behind his concern for Dean. Dean draws in a sharp breath as he realises that Castiel isn’t wearing the clean white hospital scrubs reserved for patients, or the little plastic cuff with his information on it. He’s not wearing the slip on shoes designed for total safety. He’s wearing blue hospital scrubs, a watch,  _sneakers_. He looks sad and sympathetic, as if he can imagine precisely what Dean’s seeing suddenly. 

Dean isn’t the nurse.

Castiel is. 

Memories come flooding into his mind and Dean groans, pushing his head between his knees as he hears Missouri and Crowley make a startled cry. He can feel Castiel’s hand on his back and hear his soothing words in his ear, but everything’s gone before he knows it. He’s floating in a sea of sudden recollection and he’s barely aware that he’s started to cry. 

Sam.  _Sammy_. He’s yanking at the door to his apartment screaming his brother’s name and hearing muffled cries from within. He pulls back and begins to kick at the door, strong legs attacking the weak spot where the bolt meets the frame. The wood begins to splinter and he hears himself screaming his brother’s name. An explosion rings out and everything goes silent for one bright second. There’s a thud and he resumes his attack on the door with renewed vigor, bursting through it moments later and hurling himself down the corridor to his brother’s room. He turns away after the second step into the room and drops to the ground, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the cheap laminate flooring and sobbing uncontrollably. Sam is lying by the bed, his hands and arms covered with blood from countless wounds inflicted in his withdrawal-desperation, trying to find something,  _anything_  to stave off the cravings. There’s a small pistol in his hand and he’s not moving, not breathing. Dean sobs, his breath heaving in his chest, leaning down to press his face to the floor, not caring that he’s getting covered in his own puke. Sammy’s… Sammy’s… Another sob crawls out of his throat. 

He can’t remember anything between then and the time when paramedics and police are pushing into the room, a neighbour called the cops after hearing Dean attacking the door and the gunshot from within the apartment. Paramedics pull him to his feet and he lets them lead him from the room, tears streaming silently down his face. He shouldn’t let them take him away from Sammy but Sammy is… He whimpers soundlessly, but there’s nothing left in him apart from the steady stream of tears. His throat is raw from sobbing and he can feel something hard and in his hands. Prying his fingers apart he sees the small pill bottle he had been bringing Sam, the little methadone pills inside it rattling around mockingly. He had the tools of Sam’s salvation in his grasp, but he was too late. He should have known better than to leave Sam alone, and where the  _hell_  had he gotten a gun? He pulled out of the paramedic’s grip and hurled the little bottle across the parking lot with a strangled cry of rage. 

His memories dim again, then, and he thinks the paramedics gave him something to make him calm down. The next memory that returns is him sitting in an office with a sympathetic looking woman. She’s trying to coax him into talking about Sam, about what happened, but Dean just sulks and tells her to fuck off. He doesn’t want to talk about his  _feelings_. His mind feels fuzzy and he realises he’s hungover. She starts talking to him about alcohol dependence and how he needs to cope with his loss in healthier ways, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He’s sick of people telling him what to do, he doesn’t want to  _cope_. He wants to be with Sam. The thought terrifies him when he realises he really means it. He checks himself into the hospital the following day. He meets Missouri and Pamela and all the other staff of the psych ward - Aaron and Jo and Meg… and Castiel. Castiel who looks at him with understanding and empathy as he’s escorted up to his room. Meg calls him Clarence and tells him to take care of Freckles while Castiel just rolls his eyes at her. 

He remembers having his first major panic attack and Castiel coming in to soothe him, everything he remembers about that incident flipped back on himself and he realises he was the one sobbing and terrified. He remembers that Castiel is apologizing for  _him_  feeling the emotions, not experiencing Castiel’s panic. He remembers the warmth that uncurled in his chest as Cas stroked his hair and wiped the tears from his face. He realizes this is the first time he started to fall for the blue-eyed nurse. 

It’s a shock to realise that the days he believed Cas unresponsive are actually Castiel’s day off, his lack of attention because he  _wasn’t actually in the hospital_. He wasn’t disturbed by Bela’s tantrums because he really was at home. Dean can feel the panic clawing its way back up out of his throat again and he tries to swallow it down. He remembers the first time he kisses Castiel and is surprised to see that it happened not unlike how he had thought. He remembers looking at Castiel’s phone, the message from his brother, and how Castiel smiles at him so warmly. Blowing off his own brother in favor of spending more time with Dean. Dean kisses him because he can’t think of anything else to do, because he knows Castiel can never kiss him even though Dean can see the love sparkling in his eyes when he looks at him. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Missouri is saying and Dean curls his arms around his knees, resting his chin on them and shuffling back against the wall. 

“Dean,” Castiel says gently and Dean shakes his head. 

“Everything I thought was a lie,” he mutters and Castiel looks shocked and hurt. 

“You were so deep I thought it would hurt you to pull you out,” Castiel murmurs, “but I never expected…” He stops and glares up at Missouri and Crowley. “Give us a few minutes,” he growls, his voice full of anger and pain, “you can watch on the monitors if it makes you feel better.” He gets up and closes the door in their faces then returns quickly to the bed, taking Dean’s hand in his own. 

“I meant what I said, Dean, I love you, I didn’t mean to, but I… couldn’t help it. You’re so amazing,” his words are soft and Dean lets them wash over him. “Even after everything you went through you couldn’t deal with the idea that you were the one in need. You treated me like I was precious, you always wanted to help me, and you did even though I was never your patient. Dean, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Losing my job means nothing if it means I have you.” 

Dean can’t meet his eyes and his tears are blinding him as they stream down his face to fall on his hands. 

“I have to go and talk to Crowley and Missouri, but I’ll be back okay?”

Dean nods silently and Castiel kisses him on the forehead, pushing his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to soothe him before leaving the room and hurrying to the other end of the corridor. The conversation is hushed at first but soon starts to escalate, Crowley and Castiel screaming at one another while Missouri tries her best to calm them both down. Dean shuts his eyes and puts his head between his knees, squeezing tight against his ears so he can’t hear them. He doesn’t want to know what’s going on, everything hurts and he’s so confused. The loud thuds of running footsteps get louder and he’s just about to look up when the door slams open, starling him into looking up. In a second Cas is in his arms, showering his face with kisses.

“I have to go, I promise I’ll come back Dean, I love you Dean, I’ll come back for you, stay safe, I love you so much, I’m sorry, I love you so much Dean, I love you, I’ll come back,” he’s saying the words over and over like a prayer and Dean can only nod and try to kiss him back as much as possible. Then strong hands are gripping his shoulders, gripping Castiel’s and pulling them apart.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean’s voice breaks and he lunges, trying to grab hold of Cas as the orderlies drag them apart. His fingernail tear at Castiel’s skin, dragging down his forearm and drawing blood but neither of them care and Cas fights to get free, even going as far as punching one of the guys holding him for just another fleeting moment of contact with Dean.

“I’ll come back Dean, I promise I will, I’ll come back!” Castiel’s voice is desperate and Dean sags, the men holding him back grunting as his weight suddenly drags them down. There’s so much pain in Cas’ voice, so much rage and fear and it physically hurts Dean to hear it. His heart aches in his chest and he can’t struggle any longer. The orderlies drag Castiel away and then Crowley’s standing in the doorway, his voice oily and smug. 

“I’d say you should have known better, pet, but I know we can’t put any of the blame on you. You don’t know what you’re doing, do you? You don’t even know where you  _are_  most of the time. No, it’s all on dear, sweet Castiel. Taking advantage of a patient like that,” he tuts condescendingly, “how  _shameful_.” 

Dean looks up at him, his eyes blank with defeat. He can’t even muster up the energy to argue, although his mind races with things he wants to say to defend Cas. It’s not Castiel’s fault at all, Dean knows it isn’t, but he can’t see the point in fighting Crowley any longer. Missouri ushers him and the orderlies out of the room, berating them constantly for their shameful behavior, before sitting down at the end of Dean’s bed. He flinches at her light touch on his wrist but she doesn’t draw away, smoothing her fingers over his skin and caressing him gently, trying to calm his jangled nerves.

“Don’t worry, I’ll speak in your defence - both of you. Before Cas came you were totally unresponsive, even if you got things a little muddled since at least you were talking. And you were both so happy. That’ll count for more than anything, you wait and see.”

Dean nods glumly and Missouri leans forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead before leaving, closing the door behind her softly. 

Dean curls up on the bed and cries quietly for a while before falling into a deep, troubled sleep.

 

**Six months later**

 

“Heya Clarence, good to see ya,” Meg drawls as Castiel walks up to the ward window and she buzzes him through without a second glance. Hopping up out of her seat she gives him a quick hug before leading him down to the nurses station where the others are sitting playing cards. “Well looky what I found!” Meg announces as they round the corner.

“Cas!” Jo and Aaron leap up to give him hugs of their own, joyful at the reunion. “Are you coming back to work?” Jo can’t help the eagerness in her tone, she and Castiel had always gotten on well.

“No,” he says with a bitter smile, “I’m not allowed to be around patients anymore, apparently I,” he rolls his eyes, smiling sardonically, “can’t be  _trusted_.”

“What is it then?” Aaron looks confused and Castiel frowns, surprised he has to ask. 

“I came to see Dean, the court finally said I could…”

He can’t miss the look that is exchanged between the three of them, though they try to hide it quickly, and a sudden fear coils in his chest.

“What is it? Did they send him somewhere else? He hasn’t got any family, no next of kin, how will I find him?” His voice is rising in panic and Meg puts a gentle hand on his arm to try and calm him down. 

“I think you need to talk to Ms Moseley,” Jo says quietly, and they take him up to the quiet ward where Missouri is taking her turn. None of them have been left to a single rotation since Castiel’s dismissal and subsequent inquest - it was decided the staff could get too  _attached_  to their patients if they weren’t rotated around every once in a while, though Missouri has very vocally expressed her disapproval for the ‘frankly ridiculous’ decision. 

“Castiel!” She sounds surprised and rises up out of her seat to envelop him in a warm hug. The other three scatter, fleeing back to their posts and leaving Castiel to wonder what the hell happened while he was gone. 

“Missouri, I came to see Dean, where is he?” Her face falls and that’s all the answer Cas needs. It’s like a shadow lives in her eyes now, the shadow of the patient she tried to save and couldn’t. Cas can only ask one more thing of her now. “How?” 

She motions for him to sit down and, once he’s settled, takes the other seat, turning to face him with her hands folded sadly in her lap.

“About six weeks after you were hauled outta here by Crowley’s goons he came back to see him. I don’t know what he said, he wouldn’t talk about it and we aren’t allowed to put microphones in the patients rooms, but after that Dean… he just shut down. I guess Crowley said something about making sure you never got to come back, that’s the only thing I can think of. He wouldn’t go to the bathroom to shower or shave, not that we trusted him with a blade after that, and he absolutely refused to eat. If we made him… he just brought it all back up again. We tried pumping him full of fluids and keeping him sustained that way but he just… wasted away. Stared out the window like he was waitin’ for something. It… he… it was only a couple weeks ago, I haven’t even cleared out his room yet…” Tears tumbled down the kind woman’s face as she recounted what had happened and Castiel had to squeeze his own eyes shut against the burn that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Can I… go and sit in there for a while?” He’s amazed his voice sounds so steady and even more amazed when Missouri nods, flapping a hand at him silently to give her permission. 

Castiel goes down to Dean’s room and sits on the bed, curling his knees up to his chin and breathing in the familiar scents of the room. It is hard not to feel guilt over what’s happened, if he had been better able to control himself Dean would… still be alive. Sure his life would be shitty and hardly a life at all, but Cas would give anything to hear Dean’s laugh again. He stares at the desk in the corner of the room, unable to stop a small smile crossing his face as he sees the book they were reading together still sitting there with his bookmark sticking out of it. They’ve both read it before but were taking it in turns reading to each other. Cas misses the sound of Dean’s voice and the way he would try to make the book funnier by giving all of the characters stupid voices, or adding his own bits of dialogue to change the story a little. He can’t help but reach out to pick it up, and a small cry escapes his throat when the bookmark slides out, a piece of paper folded around it tightly. 

With shaking hands he opens it, knowing Dean must have left it here for him to see.

 

_Cas._

_I know you’re not coming back. I know you never loved me, not really but I wanted to say thanks. For trying. For helping me talk about Sammy._

_I haven’t had any reason to be happy since, shit, since Sam met Ruby. But you made me smile and laugh again. I really fell for you even though I know it’s not fair to say that it’s true._

_Just. Thank you. You ain’t what I deserved, but you’re what I needed._

_I love you._

_Dean_

 

Castiel folds the piece of paper carefully and tucks it into his pocket, not wanting to damage it in any way. He gets up and walks out of the room calmly, thanking Missouri for letting him sit there for a while and promising to keep in touch. He knows he won’t. He says his goodbyes to Jo and Aaron and they look at him with sad eyes, not able to understand his pain but feeling bad for him anyway. Meg pulls him back and gives him a hard hug, kissing his cheek and telling him she’ll come by his apartment later to check up on him. He’s grateful for that, he isn’t sure what he might do if the threat of a visitor weren’t hanging over his head. But right now he needs some time alone and he tells her this. She nods, promising to be over by eight at the latest and he agrees. 

The journey home is over in what feels like a heartbeat. One second Castiel is sitting behind the wheel of his car and the next he blinks and he’s suddenly in front of his apartment. He should be concerned, but he’s just glad his auto-pilot got him home safely. Fumbling with his keys he takes the lift up to his apartment and lets himself in, closing and locking the door behind him. He walks through to the den and sits down on the couch, withdrawing the letter from his pocket and reading it through again and again. 

He places the letter almost reverently on the coffee table in front of him, glad he’s been at home for so long since this whole ordeal started that the entire place is spotless, having had nothing else to do but clean angrily while he waits for the verdict of his hearing. Then he rests his elbows on his legs and puts his face in his cupped hands, letting go of the tight restraints he’d put around himself since he sat down in Missouri’s office.

Castiel cries. He cries for the loss of a life so bright, so  _good_  that even when his world has fallen apart he’s still trying to help others around him. He cries for the lie that led to him thinking Cas never loved him, when the truth is that Cas loves him even still and more than he has ever loved anything in his life. He cries for how fiercely he hates Crowley for forcing this situation, he  _howls_  at the realization that had anyone called him and asked him to come and see Dean, he would still be alive. Castiel knows Dean died of heartbreak, thinking Cas didn’t love him and didn’t want to come back to him. Castiel knows if he could only have seen Dean he could have saved him. He would have told him how much Dean meant to him, how much he loved him, all the little things he could never say before and will never get a chance to say now. 

Meg finds him, later, curled up on his side and staring blankly at the note. At first her heart leaps into her throat, thinking he’s done something stupid, but then a ragged breath draws into his body and he blinks, a tear breaking free and rolling over the bridge of his nose to drip onto the already soaked fabric of the couch. But though he’s still alive, Meg knows nothing will ever be the same for Castiel again. Something inside him died with Dean and now he’s broken, in some ways worse than the patients she sees every day. 

“Oh Clarence, I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, lifting his head and shuffling in underneath, curling her arms around his shoulders as a fresh wave of sobs wracks his aching body, each cry more painful than the last. He’s lost the only thing he loved and it  _hurts_. They stay curled together like that until morning, when Meg offers to take Cas to see Dean’s grave. 

Castiel is all cried out when they reach the dark slab of marble with Dean’s name and two dates on it. It’s nicer than the state usually offers, and Cas has an inkling that the staff had something to do with that. He feels a wave of gratitude towards them as he drops to his knees and strokes the headstone sadly, tracing Dean’s name with his fingers. He wishes there was more he could say but he just can’t seem to find the breath. 

“I do love you, Dean,” he whispers, “with all my heart.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt: 
> 
> "Dean starts working at a mental institution, because Sam commits suicide (ect) and he meets Cas a solitary confinement patient, they fall in love ect a nurse finds out Dobbs them in, Dean looses his job. As he looks at Cas one last time we find out that Dean was the paitient all along. Cas goes to visit home 5-6 months later, and finds out Dean commuted suicide because he no longer had his fantasy and couldn't handle reality alone. I hope you can do this"
> 
> Darling, I know I deviated somewhat from your vision - I hope that's okay! I got stuck trying to work around it and decided in the end it was better to deviate than to keep you waiting any longer than I already have. I hope that I've done your idea justice anyway and that you don't hate me forever for making this fic so unutterably sad! Thank you for letting me work with your vision, it's been truly a pleasure. Or not. It's actually been horribly painful and sad. But also an enjoyable journey. Sort of. I don't know how to describe it really. Anyway. Here you go <3
> 
> (You can find me on Tumblr. On my [main blog](http://faeryn.tumblr.com) or my [very quiet writing sideblog.](http://faerynfics.tumblr.com))


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